For Five Years, My Husband Loved Me Like a Replacement Chapter 10
Two years later, I had my own studio in Southport.
On opening day, Tara sent a massive flower basket. Eliot gave me a new set of brushes. The card had one line.
“To Vivian Moore—may you always paint what you truly want to paint.”
I put it in my drawer. Not because I couldn’t let go. But because I wanted to keep it safe.
My mother visited once. She stood at the studio door, holding a bag of supplements.
“Vivian, your sister isn’t doing well. She knows she was wrong.”
I poured her a glass of water.
She looked at the paintings on the wall. For the first time, she said softly, “Your paintings are really beautiful.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
Her eyes went red. “Mom overlooked you all those years.”
I didn’t take the apology. Some things can’t be erased with a few words.
She stayed for half an hour. Before she left, she asked, “Are you ever coming home?”
I said, “This is my home.”
She nodded and didn’t push.
—
Julian came too. He didn’t come inside. Just sent flowers on opening night. Not white roses. A messy bunch of wildflowers.
The card read: “Not the usual this time.”
I looked at it for a long time. Then I had my assistant put them in the common area. The next day, kids from my class took them home.
I heard Julian had stepped down as CEO of the Sterling Group. He traveled to different cities, visiting galleries, buying work from unknown artists. Some said he was looking for an answer. Others said he’d finally learned to see people.
None of it mattered much to me anymore.
Eliot proposed on an ordinary evening.
I’d just finished a children’s art class. Paint still on my hands. He stood by the window — no ring box in hand. Just a piece of paper.
On it, he’d drawn a table. Two cups of tea. A lamp. And a casual bouquet of flowers on the windowsill.
He said, “Vivian Moore, I can’t promise I’ll never make mistakes. But I promise I’ll always take the things that matter to you seriously, and I’ll keep learning.”
I looked at the drawing and laughed.
“Where’s the ring?”
He blinked, then pulled it from his pocket.
“I was going to wait until you looked at the drawing.”
—
I held out my hand.
“Now works.”
He slid the ring onto my finger. Slow. His fingertips trembling just a little.
Outside, someone set off fireworks — someone else’s celebration.
Tara hollered from the door. “Kiss her already, Eliot!”
I turned to glare at her.
But Eliot simply lowered his head and kissed the back of my hand. Soft. Careful.
That night, as I closed up, I straightened the break room. In the corner, a single wildflower from Julian’s bouquet sat in a cup of water — one of the kids had put it there.
The petals were wilting.
I picked it up and dropped it into the trash outside.
No hate. No regret either. It just didn’t belong here anymore.
Back inside, Eliot was making tea.
He asked, “Tired?”
I shook my head. “No.”
He slid the cup toward me. Warm against my palms.
I sat under the lamp and looked at After the Usual on the wall. Outside the glass cloche, the flowers were blooming in glorious
—
abundance.
I thought about that girl from years ago — the one who got her first bouquet of white roses. She’d said she loved them, afraid of being difficult.
If I could meet that girl again, I’d tell her: It’s okay to say you don’t like something. Wanting to be treated with genuine care isn’t asking for too much.
Outside, the night was soft. Eliot turned pages beside me. The tea’s scent spread through the room.
I took a sip. A little hot. But warm.
I was never anyone’s usual again.
I’m Vivian Moore. Finally, I’m simply myself.